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Post Your Canucks Post-Mortem Songs of Woe (Great Sorrow or Distress.)


TOMapleLaughs

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I'll start off:

If at first you don't succeed,

that just means you suck.

I can almost guarantee,

that you're a stupid puck.

Try you might and try you may,

you're still shill out of luck,

"What the bloody hell was that?" I say,

whenever you touch the puck.

Trade the coach and fire the team,

ship them out on a truck.

And then you'll hear us scream,

Why can't we win a cup?

You blame the fans, a quiet crowd,

whenever you get stuck.

But then how can it get real loud,

when Ferland (who?) makes you look like schmucks?

Why oh why are you so freakin' slow?

Are you skating around in muck?

Nick Bonino's gotta go,

If you need cab fare, here's a buck.

The coverage of CBC makes me sick,

Every game it's yuckity-yuck-yuck-yuck.

My remote, a beercan, a brick?

which latest object at the tv should I huck?

The quality of reffing we've seen is absurd,

even when the opposition is running amok.

It's a conspiracy by Bettman or Burke, haven't you heard?

and it tastes like leftover upchuck.

But all is not over, all is not lost,

There are certainly more UFA's to pluck.

Buy all the free agents! No matter the cost!

Or maybe a cup-granting deal with Gary can be struck.

Since 1970 it's been 'maybe next year '

'We lost again? Aw shucks.'

But when we finally do win, I'll cheer

"This is MY... VANCOUVER... CANUCKS!!!"

AAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!

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Kassian, Kassian, Kassian,

Get off your lazy assian.

Matthiath, Matthiath, Matthiath,

Can thumbuddy tell me where he ith?

And now here's a special note,

A special song for Alex Burrows,

Why did you hit Johnny Gaudreau?

Let him grow,

Let him grow,

Don't knock him down and then throw,

Alex Burrows,

Let him grow.

His name is Johnny Hockey,

He still has a pet sockie.

He's not that tall,

Nor that stocky,

And a brush-off to him is like Nagasaki.

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They call them the Sedin sisters,

Which makes no sense, because they're misters.

But their lackadaisical and lazy,

play drives me so crazy,

That I rub the hair off my scalp and get blisters.

Don't let Me Dowwwwn, JUICE!

Don't let Me Dowwwwn, JUICE!

I see them lose, I blame the coach.

I see it again, I blame the coach.

When it happens again, I blame the coach.

But then again, it's not the coach.

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They call them the Sedin sisters,

Which makes no sense, because they're misters.

But their lackadaisical and lazy,

play drives me so crazy,

That I rub the hair off my scalp and get blisters.

Don't let Me Dowwwwn, JUICE!

Don't let Me Dowwwwn, JUICE!

I see them lose, I blame the coach.

I see it again, I blame the coach.

When it happens again, I blame the coach.

But then again, it's not the coach.

Is that supposed to be a cover of an ELO song?

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I flip to CDC and what do I see?
A whole lotta people cryin', don't blame Jimmy B
They point their crooked little fingers at everybody else
Spend all their time feelin sorry for themselves
Victim of this, victim of that
Matthias' a wimp, and Dorsett's a brat

Get over it!
Get over it!
All this whinin and cryin and pitchin a fit
Get over it! Get over it!

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101 points who woulda knew,

Great season by the same old crew,

New prez, new GM, new coach,

Tired old team, a hungrier one poached,

Playoff berth? Absolutely! No problem!,

82 games, "we're ready!" said all of them,

Sedins came to play, and a rookie named Bo,

The rest, outworked, outplayed, and no shows,

Vrby or Hansen, Miller or Lack?,

WD seemed confused, and who gives a frack,

This team needs a change, a re-tool of sorts,

"Stale" said he, the man we called Torts,

Already excited for the next season,

Up and comers and that's the reason,

Big returns for our vets and some bags of pucks,

45 years and counting, being a 'Nucks fan sucks!

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My name is mud.

Not to be confused with Jim or Hank or Will or Danny.

My name is mud, as it's always been.

'Cause i'm the most boring team you've ever seen,

I dress in blue. Yes green and blue.

From head to toe i'm rather drab except my haida hat

I ride the pine. Most of the time.

'Cept today my feet are troddlin' on by this cart of mine.

Six pack and the weather's swell

I got to get my golf round in and it's just as well.

My name is mud.

Mud.jpg

My name is mud, but call be Zacharia Sasquatchakylebeach Kassian

That's long for mud, so I've been told

Told that by this coach of mine as did the coach before and before that.

I've got my pride. I drink my wine.

I'd drink the finest but I haven't had a raise in several months

Or were it years?

The next time I be benched I'll fall to tears.

We had our words. Gave him a smack.

So I ended up MIA with a broken twisted back.

My name is mud.

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